


Magpie

by Alias (anafabula)



Series: Inappropriate for some audiences [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (maybe.), Autistic/ADHD Archivist, Banned Together Bingo 2020, Breathplay, Complicated Relationships, Consensual Exhibitionism, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, I'm judging the fact that ao3 doesn't syn Consensual Exhibitionism to Exhibitionism now., Impact Play, Kink Without Sex, M/M, Manhandling, Monsters in love, Praise Kink, Sadism, Sex-Favorable Asexual Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus, Sex-Neutral Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Some bystanders were harmed in the making of this scene, Surprisingly Appropriate Use of Beholding Powers, a gift for a very kind commenter, algolagnia, beholding kink, by which I mean I always write him as both and tagging it is an ordeal., consensual (for those directly involved) but not safe or sane, he has one setting and so do I, i guess, insider pov remix of outsider pov fic, non-con roleplay (see rusty_kink prompt), nonconsensual voyeurism, remixing myself, unethical asexuals have tenuous relationship with the prospect of including sex in their kink life, unethical kink, ‘disappear out of comments abruptly then show up much later with giftfic’ is a social skills. right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anafabula/pseuds/Alias
Summary: Jon would never have thought Elias’s face could light up like that before he saw the way he’d looked a moment after the first time Elias ever slapped him.A midday break runs over time, albeit not unexpectedly.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Inappropriate for some audiences [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073432
Comments: 24
Kudos: 47
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020, Rusty Kink





	Magpie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fav_littleleaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fav_littleleaf/gifts).



> BTB free space: “`Offends Censor`” / [kinkmeme prompt](https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=611428#cmt611428) / [original inciting-incident fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27989253)
> 
> The fics are not officially linked as inspiration and remix for now; I might change my mind later.

Jon breathes out hard with the impact when his back hits Elias’s desk; it makes the blow pleasantly all-encompassing in a way having the breath knocked out of him fully against his will rather wouldn’t. This instead is all blunt impact and pressure, and he thinks he’d like it, actually, if Elias had borne him down bodily as well and was pinning him down by more than just his hands on Jon’s wrists, that kind of weight on both sides. It sounds nice. 

“That’s lovely of you but much too peaceful for the present moment, Jon, please pay attention,” Elias says. (Someday Jon will stop with the extraneous reactions when he responds to Jon’s thoughts in contexts where Jon had literally agreed to this being relevant. Today is not that day, apparently.) “After all,” his voice drops a tick, “we have an audience.”

Jon freezes for a moment, thinking the reality of that through, and the rush of blood to his head that comes with it makes him faintly lightheaded. He doesn’t quite ask. 

“It’s Tim,” Elias goes on, so Jon doesn’t have to, keeping his voice prudently low, eyelids dipping almost shut when he has to confirm something. “He hasn’t consciously realized that he’s just going to stand there and listen yet. He thinks he’s trying to work out what he’s hearing, and he can’t make sense of it because he can’t make sense of you, and it’s going to _eat_ at him.”

Jon shudders with something too complex for the gesture. Something about the sheer vulnerability of that is intolerable—he should—Elias did bring this on himself, ‘too peaceful’, really—Jon fights the impulse to go unhelpfully limp thinking about it all, makes a noise he would not like to admit to in most contexts, and then bites his lip and starts trying to shake Elias’s grip on his wrists, twisting for whatever paltry leverage he can manage. 

It’s a hopeless endeavor, but a loud one. 

“There we are,” Elias says, just a bit into the vocal range equivalent of disheveled even as he slams Jon’s forearm back against the heavy wood. His eyes are bright with how much effort it’s taking him not to smile too much, Jon thinks; it’s like that sort of thing, a blow, an impact with an arc behind it, bypasses everything that normally makes him tick, Jon would never have thought Elias’s face could light up like that before he saw the way he’d looked a moment after the first time Elias ever slapped him. 

(Jon tries not to think about his feelings on the subject often, because they’re large and he’s bad at them, he doesn’t want to wonder how many other things Elias used to beam like that for and trained himself out of.)

“Jon, I hope I didn’t speak too soon, if you’re not actually experiencing this there’s really no point—” Elias starts, maybe a bit disgruntled by what exactly Jon’s contemplating but maybe not, so Jon hooks one leg around Elias’s waist and drags them flush together. 

He’s aiming for distraction more than feeling picky about how, but the moment of surprise and the moderate shift in angle has the unanticipated side effect of letting him twist one wrist out of Elias’s grasp. Jon tries to roll with it and get at his hair for leverage without any particular plan as to why—trying to kiss him? It’s as good a plan as any—but he’s hardly shocked when it doesn’t work out as intended; he is, for one thing, punishingly easy to manhandle. As such Elias gets his free hand up under Jon’s sweater and drags his fingernails down his torso, light on the skin but digging into the scars, and Jon yelps, his hand falling back to his side unattended. 

Elias ends up having Jon fixed in place again by one hip and one shoulder, and Jon’s not sure if he prefers it to the previous. Most positions have their merits, he supposes. He can run his thumb over the knob of Elias’s nearest wrist this way—can, and does, the weight of easy restraint channeled through it somehow making it feel more important that his bones seem so fine. 

“Better,” Elias says primly, into the silence, like he’s proving a point to yet another party who’s uninvolved. 

It doesn’t even take Jon any particular effort to follow up on the flash of benign irritation. Arguably he spends more time actively trying not to insult Elias than anything, mixed as his feelings are on the matter. “You’re a bastard,” he spits, and then, with a moment of what passes for inspiration, “Get your hands off me and go fuck yourself in the eye with—”

He goes on in that vein, though Jon admittedly thinks he’s bad at it—not his kind of improv, for a great many reasons—seemingly without rebuttal right up until Elias’s hand comes down on his neck, the web of his thumb cutting off Jon’s breath above the Adam’s apple. 

Jon’s reduced immediately to tiny little gasps and not-quite-wheezing, and his toes curl involuntarily about it as he raises both hands to pet at Elias’s. Other than that he relaxes, immediately, the soft high noises he’d be otherwise inclined toward paradoxically trapped without air. 

“I’m given to understand this is the sort of situation where a human being is _more_ inclined to fight back,” Elias murmurs, very quietly, and the incitement is obvious and more than a little uncomfortable but Jon takes the hint. 

He scrabbles and pries Elias’s fingers off his neck where they’d relaxed and Elias lets him, and, with more than half a mind to just how perpetually Elias has the upper hand, Jon shoves at him and struggles on autopilot and puts a greater proportion of what focus he has toward talking. 

Jon has some fun with that, actually, the continuing to curse Elias out whenever he’s physically capable, part catharsis and part fondness and part still genuinely unresolved feelings all in harmony, for once, in telling his boss he’s a horrible prick firsthand. He’s not very creative with the follow-ups on what exactly Elias could go do about the fact—starting with the eyes was honestly Jon’s masterstroke in terms of being at all clever and it’s just downhill from there—but he’s hardly working in ideal conditions for continuous or intelligent speech. Bit distracted. To say the least. 

Elias ends up dragging Jon into his lap mostly by the hair when he sits back, wrenching a largely involuntary wail from Jon accordingly, leaving him breathless and his whole scalp tingling with the aftermath of what came surprisingly close to being too much pain by the time he’s properly straddling Elias’s thighs. He kisses Jon’s throat without further commentary, open-mouthed but otherwise unassuming against the bruising that’s momentarily there. In another moment, it’ll be gone; or by the time Jon heads back to the basement, certainly. Otherwise he’d worry more. 

Jon presses his face to the crook of Elias’s neck but braces his hands on the arms of his chair, still a bit shaky. He has, for just a moment, the situationally absurd but reflexive urge to apologize for the noise. 

“No, that’s quite all right. You’re doing wonderfully, Jon,” Elias says, running his hands from the nape of Jon’s neck down his spine, dipping too low to be entirely innocent but gentle enough to be grounding. Jon might be making little sounds on the subject as Elias goes on. He’s not sure. 

If he is, they’d be loud enough for a tape recorder but not enough to reach the door.

**Author's Note:**

> In sum: Alias can’t social interaction, all he know is glacial update speed on WIPs , haunt the kinkmeme, have feels about literary theory & giftfic 
> 
> Also soliciting comments, that too, I know how to do that. Case in point—well—


End file.
